


You don’t need legs to walk in a dream, you can fly!

by QuinsQuins



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: :), Adult Losers Club (IT), Angst, Ben and Mike are strong guys in this but that doesn’t matter, Fluff, Hurt Richie Tozier, Hurt/Comfort, I love angst too, I love these guys but, I’m only saying that cause it could offend someone :/, Losers Club (IT) Friendship, Multi, Oh wait, Paralysis, Permanent Injury, Platonic Relationships, Polyamory Losers club - Freeform, Sad Richie Tozier, Sleep talking, Stanley Uris has issues, This is sad but happy, This should not turn out the way you think it does because of the beginning, Very much sadness, it’s also long, oo, sorry - Freeform, spinal cord injury, the losers are really toxic to each other at the beginning, there is fluff, they all cry, they all love each other, weird nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:34:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22688569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuinsQuins/pseuds/QuinsQuins
Summary: Richie Tozier talks in his sleep.Richie Tozier can’t feel his feet.Richie Tozier survives the IT attack.Richie Tozier breaks his fucking back.
Relationships: Ben Hanscom & Richie Tozier, Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Beverly Marsh & Eddie Kaspbrak, Bill Denbrough & Eddie Kaspbrak, Bill Denbrough & Mike Hanlon, Mike Hanlon & Ben Hanscom, Richie Tozier & Eddie Kaspbrak & Stanley Uris, Richie Tozier/Eddie Kaspbrak, richie tozier & beverly marsh, the losers club/the losers club
Comments: 6
Kudos: 53





	1. A sleeping mans wondering mouth

**Author's Note:**

> Okay okay okay, I KNOW I should be working in Richie Tozier fucking dies but....I had this Idea, and I didn’t want it to get away from me so...here you go! 
> 
> Whole 16 thousand something thing that I day dreamed last week!  
> It’s actually gotten me to think a little bit about RTFD’s next move so, I hope you guys are ready for that! 
> 
> All spelling/writing mistakes are mine!

It’s the night of Pennywise’s death that it happens.

The losers are sleeping in one room. All agreeing, not vocally, that they’re much too afraid of the imaginary creepy crawlers that hide in their disgusting motel bed sheets.   
Eddie had complained- tried to lighten the mood- about it, saying he was ‘scared a bug would dig through the stitches in his cheek( as if one could) and lay eggs in the back of his throat.’ 

“ It’s not that this place is disgusting- it is- and, it’s not like I should freak out and call the health inspector every time I see an over sized fly or roach with wings- I should- but, I would really appreciate it if I DIDN’T wake up with a mouthful of maggots! I’d probably puke my whole stomach out if that happened!”

The joke falls flat, as it should but, the losers give him pity smiles anyway. Taking mind to subtly brush the back of their hands on his while walking through the flurry of dry, cleaned sheets every time his hands begin to shake, or when he jumps at the sound a door closing.

He doesn’t say anything, but the losers take his silence as a thank you when his periods of anxiety start to spurt up less and less between each episode. Shoulders visibly relaxing the later it became and the closer they were getting ready for sleep.

Of course, there was not enough room for all of them to sleep in the same bed.

The biggest bed in the whole hotel was a king- which could fit two average adults and a young child, at most- but, all of them felt it too much of a bother to buy another room when they have five perfectly good rooms for themselves.

...plus they haven’t seen the one worker that gave them their rooms keys in the first place and, thinking back on the past traumatizing events, they chose to leave it be.

~~~

“ Maybe they’ah just out smokin' a ciggy.” Richie had commented, after him and Bev searched the entire kitchen for some drinks, putting on the thickest Australien accent he could mutter 

Beverly casted him a questioning look, arms full of luke warm water bottles, and rolled her eyes.

“ What makes you say that, Trashmouth?” She asked, struggling to blow the irritating stand of red hair out of her face.” What if they disappeared along with...ya know.” She grunted while hefting up a bottle that was about to slip out of her grip. 

“ Kinda strange how run down this place is, yet, and that no one else has come? Isn’t it? Like...as if it was specifically created for us?” Beverly stares at something behind Richie, tilting her head.

( That is Strange...isn’t it?)

Richie coughed into his hand- a slight bark crackling through his throat- cringed at the feel of wet, thick mucus coating his palm and wiped it on his jeans.

Blatantly ignoring the concerned look Beverly was throwing him.

He passed it aside with a slight flip of his hand. “ Well, yeah, they were definitely one of that fucking clowns imagine fuckery- maybe even this place, too- but,” Richie gave a goofy smile and waved her towards the boxes of cigarettes that’d been hidden under a stained, white tarp.

“ This box of cancah says othah wise mrs mahrsh.” Riffling to the bottom, he picked out the least soggiest pack and tapped it against his palm.   
Richie looked at Beverly with mischief in his cartoony- but not ridiculously- magnified eyes. “Can ya bum a lighter, mate? Wannah try one of these babies 'n get my rockers off !”

Beverly didn’t have one, fortunately( As if she’d give Richie it after the coughing) and made him throw them all out before heading back upstairs.

She forced him to drink his entire water bottle and half of hers- when his panting breathing became static and popping after just walking up the stairs. 

Richie didn’t complain.

~~~~~

So, after ticking off Stan and Eddie’s rooms as their ‘sleep over destination’, they all played rock paper scissors til a winner was claimed.

Ben, ever the lovely-lucky- fucking bastard, won against Mike, Bill, Stan and Richie before losing against Eddie and Beverly.   
Ending with a win of 4/7.

( Richie had wanted to joke that he’d been cheated out of a win, cause the shine off of Ben’s jaw line had blinded him but, he yawned instead.)

Ben remembered smiling softly as he ruffled the tired comedians hair- making a half hearted side comment about Richie being a grandpa- and yawned himself.

No one objected when Ben chose his own room. 

They’d had to muscle a few mattresses out of Bill and Richie’s rooms but, other than that, the rest of their night went along peacefully.

Stan, with his dead arms and weary head, flopped himself down onto one of the nicely made beds and seemed to fall asleep as soon as Bill tossed the covers over his body. The wrinkles near his eyes and mouth disappearing while falling deeper and deeper into ‘dreamland’. Angelic face mixing in pleasantly with the aesthetic white of his sheets.  
Bill fell asleep next to him, shifting to wrap his arms around the curly haired mans waist, and sighed deeply at the faint sent of burning wood with hot chocolate.

Richie looked at the pair with a sloppy smile, easing himself down onto the second mattress just adjacent to the first one. “Hey, look at them.” He gestured, tiling his head up.  
“ Who would’a thought? Not me!”Richie cackled happily.

Bill flipped the comedian off, resulting in more loud laughter, and didn’t stir again.

Ben, Beverly and Mike freely chuckled at the Trashmouth’s stupidity. Eddie frowned deeply, something he would do when he didn’t want to laugh, and crossed his arms.

“ How are you still awake enough to be an asshole?”

Richie stuck out his tongue, biting it with a mocking look most models did.” Oh, don’t act like you don’t love me being an asshole~!” He pressed a finger to his lip with smirk, and closed his right eye.” Didn’t hear you’re mom complaining about it last night!”

Eddie didn’t warn him before chucking one of the beds pillows at Richie’s face. Not even batting an eye at the sound of Richie’s- already broken- glasses clattering against the ground.

“ Suck my dick, Trashmouth.” 

Richie covered his mouth, shoulders convulsing as he tried to hold his laugher in, and hugged the pillow to his chest. Positioning himself right in the middle of the mattress and relaxed into it, smiling.

“ Wake me up in twenty four hours, then ask me again. My heads kinda killing me from all this clown shit- don’t really feel up to having your peen slam it-“

“ Beep- fucking- beep, Richie.” Stan grunted, tiredly pulling the covers up over his head. 

“ And turn off the light, please. I would like to go to bed.” 

Mike, closets to the door, exhaled out of his nose and flipped the room light off. Cascading them all in a blanket of black. 

They kept the bathroom light on, though. The moon light was beautiful, yes, and lit up the room but, not one of them trusted it to light the insides of their eyelids with a soft, comforting glow.

Everything was peaceful, after that.

Richie ended up sandwiched between Ben and Beverly while, Mike and Eddie, took the actual bed. Both able to fit on it comfortably- as long as Eddie’s back was firmly pressed up against the others chest- and slept soundly.

Then it was just the sounds of crickets and rustling sheets. Midnight air wafted in through a small crack in the window above Stan’s head that helped cool their raw, aching bone. The moons light wrapping them all up in a soft glow as the black blinds hung there uselessly swaying. 

Some dreamed about their life outside of Derry- before they came back. Asking themselves what it all meant, why’d they do it, when their minds were wiped clean of six shadowy faces and a childhood that never seemed that special.  
Wondering if the scars on their hands meant something, or was it just an accident? 

All thought they would never be given the chance to figure it out- all except mike- and had, sorta, found peace within the shadiness of their past. Curious to unfold hidden truths but, also, scared to bring up memories they didn’t even know they wanted to forget.

But, the clown worked in mysterious ways, and even after their long day of running around and screaming, none would throw it away to forget the ones their hearts belonged to first.

So, peacefully sleeping in pairs- or Trios- all losers were content.

...

But, it wasn’t till the old, soundless clock strikes three that the nighttime atmosphere changes.

Richie- even being compacted between Ben and Beverlys chests- was able to flip himself other onto his stomach during the middle of the night. The pillow he had crushed within his grip now uncomfortably pushed down on his full bladder underneath him and arms were going numb as his face dug into them as the night prevailed on.

~~~

Beverly offered him an extra pillow- worried his neck would be sore in the morning- but Richie had already fallen asleep.

~~~

Anyway, after the clocks hand clicked to three, a small whimper growled in Richie’s throat. Beside him, Ben’s face contorted into confusion. Eye brows furrowed that made his wrinkles stand out but, he simply drifted off without another thought.

Richie squirmed in his spot, forcibly turning his head to face Beverly, he whined again.  
“....mhm...No, no...stohp that...thas..thats stupid..” 

This time, being the opposite of Ben, Beverly’s eyes snapped right open. The whiteness around her iris just enhancing the terrified look hidden in her dark pupils as her body stiffed and she squinted through the dark- at each corner- for any sign of what had awoken her.

( The clown was her first thought but, they had killed It..hadn’t they?)

Heart beginning to beat faster in her chest, Beverly scooted away from the mattress edge and firmly, without must jostle, pushed her body up against Richie’s side.   
Calming herself my circling the soft part of her friends hip with a dull nail, her body began to loosen back into the comforter. Eyes dropping.

She just about fell right back to sleep when Richie shifted his body, making bev’s finger dig into his side- on accident- and croaked.  
“ stop that...no, it tickles...stop.” His loud voice roughly breaking the silence as the sound of bed springs groaned under people’s weight filled their room with sound.

Beverly retracted her hand quickly, as if it had been burned, and pulled it close to her chest. She stilled next to Richie, heart beating fast again, and waited patiently for him to groggily tell her to fuck off but, after a beat, Richie stilled and Beverly let out a sigh of relief.

Past the sleeping comedian, Stan’s eyes glistened in the dark. His hair was a mess of dark brown as strands defied gravity to the point of it being unnatural, and slight stubble creeped up from the bottom of his chin.  
He blinked the foggy sleep out of his eyes to watch Beverly push herself up from a laying position and sighed. Her tired eyes never leaving the trashmouth’s face, even when Stan gave a slight cough.

“ He annoyin’ you, Bev?” Stan whispered, voice bubbling as he tried to swallow the thick mucus that hung in the back of his throat.

Beverly gave a supple smile- not looking at him- and mindfully brushed her thumb on the curve of Richie’s cheek bone. Admiring the way his pale skin seemed to blend with the paleness of the moons rays.

“ No, I’m afraid even Trashmouths have to have their rest.” Beverly tucked a stay strand of hair behind his ears, looking up to meet Stan’s eyes.” But, I guess that doesn’t give him an excuse to shut his trap.”

Stan groaned into his pillow.” He sleep talking?” 

Beverly wordlessly nodded. Scratching a place on her nose with the tip of her pinkie finger, she looked passed Stan’s head of hair to the bed.   
“ well, well, well..didn’t your mother teach you it’s not polite to spy, Edward Kaspbrak?”

Eddie, one arm hanging limply off and the bed and half his face covered by a pillow, rolled his eyes at her. Pushing himself up on the arm beneath him, Mike’s loose grip around his stomach sliding down to his hips, he peered at the sleeping comedian with a level headed gaze.  
“ I would hardly call it spying...more like ‘you guys are being too fucking loud and woke me up’.” 

Stan snorts into his pillow.” Maybe this is pay back for all the times you and Richie kept us all up when we were kids with your bullshit.” 

“Amen to that.” Bill agreed, mumbling into Stan’s hair with a thick, sleepy voice.” Surprised none of us tried to kill you guys- cause I sure wanted to.”

Beverly and Stan chuckled in unison while Eddie pouted. 

“ okay okay but, can we agree that it was Richie who always started it? See, I wanted to sleep but noo! Big ‘comedian’ man other there,” He gestured to the sleeping man.”- just HAD to stick his tongue in my ear, or put my hand in a warm cup of water!” 

Behind him, Mike sighed in frustration, and slowly pulled himself up to rest his chin on Eddie’s shoulder. His sleepy eyes down turned along with his face.  
“ That may be true, Eddie but, you’ve go to admit...you’re just as in the wrong as he was.” Mike covered his mouth, yawning, while the other losers chuckled and Eddie sputtered out incoherent excuses. 

Bill twisted his neck around to face Eddie, chest pulling off from Stan’s back, and shushed the man with a finger against his curved lips.” some p-people are still trying to ssleep. Eddie.” He bobbed his head back at Ben and Richie. 

A grunt from Ben startles them all.” no, m’wake....jus can’t move. Rich’s layin on my arm...” He shifts his free elbow, left arm laying on his chest, as if stretching it would relive the numbness in his other appendage.  
Beverly snorted beside him.” sorry for waking you, Ben.” She leaned over to fix his hair and sat back with a smile and whispered.” Wish I could help you with your arm but...I think Richie’s a little bit too heavy for me.” Halfheartedly, She pokes at the sliver of skin peeking out from Richie’s shirt and chuckles when he sluggishly leans away from her and more into Ben’s arm.

“ oh my god,” Ben gasp out.” I think my arms lost circulation.” 

That causes a rumble of laughs to buzz in the stagnant rooms air. Soft, sleepy smiles shunning through the dark room.

Eddie sighs through his nose and rests his head against his palm, Mike following him down closer onto the bed while tilting his head into Eddie’s neck.

“ get used to it, Ben. I don’t think we’ll be able to wake that rock up til morning.” Eddie’s mouth quirked up at the feel of Mike’s hot breath tickling the back of his neck.” Unless, you would like me too?” Eddie asked, giving the peacefully sleeping man a mischievous look.

Stan and Beverly snorted in union while Ben smiled at Eddie and then turned to face Richie.

“ I think it can wait til morning, he looks so peaceful...Never thought I’d ever get to see him like this..” Ben’s face showed nothing by admiration as he studied Richie’s slack face, aware his heart was fluttering a bit at the sound of breath lay snores emitting from the trashmouth’s clogged nose.  
He turned back to Eddie.” And I don’t think any of us want to know what you were gonna do, anyway...it’s still three on the morning.”

Eddie gave an annoyed huff, but the smile on his face melted away any ill emotion.” hey! I’m offended you think my intention was harmful.”He gave Ben the most innocent look he could muster.” I was just gonna put his hand into a cup of warm water and make him piss himself, nothing bad, per say...”

Stan wrinkled his nose.” That’s disgusting, Eddie, you know Richie has a pissing kink.”

Mike chuckled into the mans neck, making Eddie squirm, and aroused another round of laughter through the room. Bills shoulders shaking as he hid his face back into Stan’s hair while Beverly and Ben tried their hardest to not shake the bed with their laughter.

Eddie curved his back away from Mike’s chest as he tried to escape the tickling feeling and almost fell off the bed in the process.” That’s so not funny, Stanley. Know you got me thinking about it! You know your piss is poisonous, right? It could kill you! Why do you think we get rid of it? Why the fuck would people want to be covered in it? What if it gets in your mouth? Or your eye? Ew! I’m fucking shaking at the idea of it!” Eddie quietly screeched. 

Mike, tightly holding him around the waist so that he doesn’t fall off the bed, snorted.

“ You literally just swam through a sewer full of piss and shit-“

Eddie interrupted.” Uuegh, don’t remind me!”

“- an hour ago, what’s got you so mad about it now?”

Eddie turned to fully face Mike and stared him dead in the eyes. Mike’s lips wiggles to keep a straight face as Eddie didn’t say a word. His dead brown eyes just plunging deep into the others soul.  
Then, after a few beats of silence, Eddie turned back over to face the rest of the losers.

“ I rest my case.”

Mike makes a ‘pft’ noise and re-wraps his arms around Eddie’s waist.” Whatever you say, Kaspbrak.”

Eddie rolls his eyes.” Okay, Hanlon.”

At the farthest bed, Beverly crosses her legs and rests her head on her hands smiling.” Ya’ll should date.”

Ben and Bill nod in agreement. 

“Yep.”

“Ya’ll cute.”

Eddie sticks out his tongue and Stan does it right back.” You can’t deny the truth, Kaspbrak.”

The risk analysts brings his tongue back into his mouth.” I’m not cute.” He states, face flushed red, while Mike kisses the edge of his hairline.

“ yeah you are.”

“ no I’m not!”

Bill pipes up.“ yesss you a-are!” 

“ oh! sha ssshut up, b bbill!” 

The author cackles at Eddie’s mock stuttering, throwing his head back in a fully belly laugh as a bit of wetness gathers at the corners of his eyes.

“ Eddie kasspbrak g-gets off a ggood one!” Bill jokes, filling the losers with nostalgia at the old saying. To memories of their younger days in the summer sun, faces sticky with sugary lemonade and chocolate chips cookie crumbs after swimming all day in the cold quarry water. 

Of home. Family...love..

And, at the thought of that-

“...what happens to us after this?” Eddie asks, mainly to himself, as the losers begin to settle back into their beds. The question makes them all pause.

Beverly looks up at Eddie, then smiles sadly.” I...I don’t know, I guess..” She tucks a strand of red hair behind her ear. Staring off into nothing as she lips her chap lips, she whispers.” I can’t go back home...I...you know?” 

Her eyes meet all the losers, except Richie, in one glance. They all know what she means.

Stan frowns and curls a fist into his bed sheet. “ I don’t want to forget you all, again...” 

Bill rubs at Stan’s back, looking between Bev and Ben for what to say. He wasn’t really good with words...

Mike, having felt Eddie’s body tense up, squeezed the man closer to his chest. Sighing.

“ The clowns dead,” Mike’s deep voice caught all the losers attention.”..We won’t forget anymore...we..we shouldn’t.” He thinks back to the ritual they’d all done. Burning possessions only the owner could know the meaning of.

A piece of paper. A card. A boat. A token. An Inhaler. A shower cap...forgotten, but always there.

Mike hides is face in Eddie’s back, shoulda pointed.

“We wont forget.” He states, fiercely. Voice rumbling through Eddie’s chest with a boom of thunder.

Ben, brows scrunched up sadly, smiles.” We won’t forget.” He echos Mike, the reassurance in his voice lifting the rooms somber atmosphere like a lit candle.   
He turned to Beverly, neck turned to look over Richie’s curly haired head.

His eyes shine bright.” I promise.”

Beverly’s lips quirk up at the sides as she wipes away a few unshed tears with the back of her hand.” I promise.”

The two look back at the other four losers. Waiting for a confirmation on something they didn’t have to say, but could feel in their hearts.

None of them wanted to separate. None of them wanted to be alone again. 

None of them wanted to forget again.

Eddie squeezes on of Mike’s hands over his stomach.” I promise.” And Mike squeezes back.

“ I promise.” He lifts his head up, smiles when he catches Eddie’a loving gaze, and turns to Bill and Stan.

The two turn to face each other on the mattress. Faces neutral with hands intertwined. Noses touching.

Bill licks his lips.” I p-promise..” He catches Stan’s empty stare, heart in his throat.

The curly haired man bites his split lip, cheeks tingling with the feel of five pairs of eyes on him.   
He doesn’t feel pressured. He feels scared..but, also, loved...

Stan gives a full tooth smile.” I promise.” And kisses the edge of Bill’s lips, hesitantly inching closer until Bull pulls back and repositions his own lips on Stan’s. Strong hands cupping the quit mans cheeks, lovingly.

They pull back from the soft kiss, totally aware of the other losers peeping on them.

Eddie smiles at them, eyes droopy with sleep.” Y’all should date.” 

Stan and Bill snort as Mike pinches Eddie’s side.” Read a room, Kaspbrak.” The man jokes, happily kissing the space behind Eddie’s ear.

Beverly covers her laugh with a pale hand, eyes still shimmering with happiness at the though of them all being together...finally...and not how the future had been shown to her since that summer.  
Death and sadness, a predicted ending...

Alive and content, their ending.

...

But there was still one losers left...

Feeling the bed shift beside her, she looks down to see Richie turn towards Ben, mouth slightly gaped.

“ I....I want to...please...I want to...” His plea was quiet. Like a soft wave of wind whistling in your ear.   
Richie moves his left leg to push against Ben’s side, putting him in an even more strange position as his torso stays stock still. Like a crooked slinky.

Beverly heart contracts at the whisper, so tired and weary, she notices no one else raises a brow. And wonders what dreams that are plaguing her friends mind would lead him to speak so quietly.

She places a hand on the small of Richie’s back, barley moving this time when he flinched back, but is surprised when Richie shifts closer to her...pushing her arm off.

“....hurts...”

At that one word, louder than before, the losers smiles slip from their faces. 

An owl outside, bathed in the darkness of Derry’s forest and buildings, hoots loudly and erupts a small concert of crickets chirping in the grass.

The atmosphere turns mysterious.

Shifting to face the farthest bed, Eddie and Mike’s eye brows furrow in confusion. Bill pushes himself up behind Stan, while said man turns over, and Ben cranes his neck to come point to point with Richie’s nose.   
The hot breath passing through the comedians slight buck teeth is warm and prickling against Ben’s cheeks.

Ben wants to cup the sleeping mans cheek between his fingers- craves the feel of rubbing a calloused thumb over Richie’s beer bones- but just stares.

Beverly doesn’t know what to do. 

Softly, with all the losers eyes on her, she presses the flat of her palm down on Richie’s back. Cringing as the man instinctively tries to push the hand off of him.

“...stop....-urts...” Richie breathily whispers, the tip of his buck teeth digging into his chapped lips.

Beverly cautiously pushes his bottom lips down, unsticking the teeth from Richie’s lips and looks across the span of Richie’s back, and to Ben, then to Richie’s back again.

Not really wanting to invade a sleeping mans privacy but, worried, she asks the room.” Can I lift up his shirt?”

Stan’s the only one to respond, a quick nod as he angles his head up to look over Ben, and Beverly reaches for the bottom of Richie’s shirt. 

Lifting the cloth up with the tips of her pointer finger and thumb, Beverly carefully pulls the shirt up Richies back, gasping slightly at the deep, purple bruise that resides just above the mans tale bone. Small holes of dried blood are decorated around the mark like sprinkles on a chocolate icing while one his scratch cuts through the center of the bruise.  
Its not that shallow but it also looks like something that would keep you up for days.

Surprising, since Richie is the only one fast asleep...

“ Jesus Christ...” Eddie breathes, wiping a hand down his face.” When the fuck did that happen?” 

~~~

When, in deed.

After the house collapsed, and all losers had their share of time in the quarry, Eddie forced all of them to the hospital. Complaining, as they drove, the whole time about staph infections and percentages that all the losers had forgotten as soon as they walked through the electric doors.

They took Eddie, Mike, and Beverly back first- as the stab wound, limp wrist and bloody clothes were more obviously worrying than a few minor, or Interior, Injuries.

It didn’t take as long as the others had planned on it taking, though. In the span of an hour, or so, Beverly walked out of the ER fresh as daisy and blood free. Eddie and Mike followed after her a few seconds later with Eddie tripping over his feet on pain medication and Mike supporting him with his right wrist bandaged up.

Bill and Stan were next to go. Limping beside the curly haired man, Stan wrapped an arm over his shoulder and helped the author hobble into their examination room. 

The other losers had all fallen asleep by the time Bill and Stan emerged from the back.   
Bill was still limping on his leg but, otherwise, was smiling like the sun had just come out. 

It was 8:56 PM.

Stan had kept an arm wrapped around Bills shoulders, fresh bandages peaking out from beneath his sleeves, and laughed quietly at whatever Bill had been talking about before waking up the losers.

“ Where’s Richie?” Ben had asked, through a yawn, moments after being woken up.” You guys pass him coming out?”

Stan gave Bill a confused look.” No. I didn’t see him, did he leave when you guys were awake?”

“ No. he was still sitting here, waiting for you guys.” Eddie replied, rubbing his eyes.

The comedian had been there when all the losers fell asleep- none knew if he actually slept- but now he was missing.

And, just about when they were going to harass the lady at the front desk, Richie came strolling through the doors with his hands in his pockets, whistling. Face clean of any sign of sewage muck, or smelling of quarry water.

They all assumed he’d been called back after they’d slept.  
‘diagnosed with half a brain cell and some bruises’ He said- even showed them a list of what to do and what not to do if you have a minor- major- concussion and flashed them a bottle of pain killer before putting it back into his pocket.

The losers didn’t ask and left it at that.

They also didn’t know he’d just spent hours in the bathroom, puking up his stomach after snatching a random bottle off some rack in the hallway and digging through the closest trash can for a tossed doctors note that’s handwriting was barely legible.

But, he was fine. No matter if it took him a few tries to get himself up off the bathroom floor.  
He was fine.

~~~

“ I don’t know...” Bev replied, studying the bruise with transfixed eyes and lightly dancing her finger over the outline as if it were a painting.” Maybe...maybe the doctors missed it, or...maybe Richie..I..don’t know.” She sank back on her heels, thinking, with a worrying expression on her face.

“ Should we wake him up?” Ben asks, straining his neck to peer down at the bruise, face contorted into a mess of worry and empathy.”...maybe, get him some of his pain medication, or...something?” The architect catches each of the losers eyes with one swoop of the dark room. Teeth digging into his lips. 

A bottle of pills rattles above Bill, and the author looks up to see Eddie pulling one- of the many- medications they’d all returned with that night sitting on the bedside table.  
He studies the way Eddie’s face scrunches up, squinting at the small words on the bottles label, and raises a brow when the mans face drops.

“There a problem? What’s it say?” He asks, drawing the attention of everyone into the room.” Something wrong with the dosage?”

Eddie narrows his eyes and turns the bottles label away from himself.” No, the dosage is fine,” He taps the bottles side, shaking the pills inside.” Take one at breakfast and one at dinner but...” Eddie pushes the bottle closer to Bill, grimacing.  
“ Unless Richie is a woman, with lactating problems, then I don’t know if there’s a problem.”

Bill raises a brow, mouthing a breathy ‘what’ to himself as he read the label.

And, sure enough, it wasn’t pain killer.

“ Duh-dompperidone.” Bill said to himself, scratching his cheek.” What- whats it? For women? You said?”  
From behind him, Stan sat up and leaned over Bill’s shoulder to read the bottle himself.

“ Domperidone, used to treat stomach disorders...but, yeah, it can help women with their...lactation,” Stan explained, glancing up at Eddie.” My coworker used it, once...but, yeah, this medicine isn’t made for...” Stan pauses to turn around, and gestured at Richie’s back, grimacing.  
“That.”

Beverly furrowed her brows.”Then why would the doctors give it to him? I know the people who live here are oblivious- social wise- but...never this?” She tilted her head towards the bottle of pills that Eddie sat back down on the desk. “ It doesn’t make sense.”

Thinking silently to himself as the others talked in the back ground, Ben spoke up.” What about the doctors note? The concussion? The ‘to do’s’? What’d that say?” He looked back and forth between the losers.” That’d explain it?...maybe?” He turned sheepish at the whites of his friends eyes staring at him and shifted back into his pillow. His stiff joints aching to move, but his conscious from jolting the other man awake kept him locked down.

Beverly, after pondering over Ben’s question, nodded to herself and- without shaking the bed too much- she swiped Richie’s discarded jacket, one he had to steal from lost ‘n found, from off the floor beside her and dug through its millions of deep pockets before hearing the crinkle of paper. She wormed her hands into the last pocket and pulled out the paper in question.

Scanning over it quietly, and squinting through the dark to read the mess of scribbles and loops, Beverly folded it back up and shoved it deep inside the pocket before throwing it aside.

Facing the losers, she rested her elbows on her knees and layer her head in the palms of her hands, growing deeply.

“ What did it say?” Eddie Inquired, eager to find the results of this strange mishap.” Anything about stomach issues? Concussion? Lactating problems? What’d it say?”   
The other nodded in agreement, as they were all word wrong the same things, too.

“ Was it a mix up?”

“ Was he given the wrong medicine? 

“ Does Richie actually have lactating problems?”

“ Do you think he pissed off the doctor?”

All questions were full of worry, maybe a bit of interest but, went unanswered.

Beverly blinked numbly as the cool air began to dry her eyes. Wetting then till she would stare off into the dark again.  
Sighing, while picking at her chapped lips, Beverly looked down at Richie with disappointment and sadness brewing in her growing pupils.

She licked her lips and, barely opening her mouth, she whispered.” It wasn’t a doctor’s note..” 

Stan felt his heart plummet- mind going to the worst thoughts- and scooted away from Bill, his full attention on the only true female friend he’s ever had.” What did it say? A diagnoses? Was it good? Bad? Is it-“

Beverly interrupted Stan halfway through his questioning.” It’s not a doctors note at all!” She looked up at him sharply, red hair bobbing by her cheeks. Her cheeks began to flush a frustrated strawberry popsicle pink as the veins in her eyes began to pop pour like a neon sign in the white surrounding them.  
She swallows thickly.” It was a fucking lunch order!” 

Beverly felt her face crumble- possibly ugly and mushy like a melting wax candle- and rubbed furiously at her eyes. “ A fucking lunch order!” She aimed it towards the back of Richie’s head, and nearly screamed when the comedian didn’t even move.

Stan pushes himself up from his slouched position and shuffled to sit on the edge of the mattress. Feet shivering against the cold, wooden floor and his knees nearly bent a over his shoulders at the tight squat, he leaned forward.  
“ Bev, Bev...calm down, please. It’s not okay, I know it’s not but, please calm down...we’ll figure this out, calmly...please?” His big doe eyes shimmered in the moons light- a sight wetness glassing over them- as he pleaded for her.

Beverly sniffed sharply and aggressively wiped away a tear trailing down her left eye with the back of her hand. Chest shuddering with every little hiccup form her beating heart, Bev looked down at Richie’s prone form with a worrying lip.

Stan took her silence with a sigh and pushed himself off the mattress and onto his knees. The slight thump of his cotton pajamas against the ground caused Bill to roll forward onto Stan’s side of the bed and sit on the edge himself.  
He watched the curly haired man shuffle on his hands and knees to Ben’s side of the other bed, hesitant to move before Stan turned around to face him and gave a slight ‘c’mere’ jerk with his head.

Then did Bill follow Stan to the other bed, as well shuffling on his hands and knees, till he got by the other sides and followed his gaze the to offending wound on his friends back.   
His demeanor dropping and shoulders sagged as the sight of small, bloody dried scraps on his curve of Richie’s hip that faced him.

Stan must of not noticed, nor Beverly and, knowing the reaction it would bring, Bill sat back on his heels and stayed quite.

No one moved, or spoke, until the sounds of a mattress springs echoing faded out, and two more bodies found themselves positioned around the farthest bed. Their bodies warm, slightly sweating, as they pressed up against on another.

No one complained, and took the comfort of their touch with greedy unacknowledged interest. 

Stan broke the silence of Bev’s occasional sniffles to reach for her hand.” Bev-“

The red head pulled her hand away as if it was about to be doused with gasoline, and set alight, with a wet, soft gasp.

She might of felt terrible at the hurt expression Stan was giving her but, not in this moment, no...

“ He always does this...He always ignores himself...” Beverly’s words rang like an apparition in their hearts. Seizing them with a vice, sharp nailed grip and shaking them widely. They all knew what she meant...maybe not yesterday, or a week ago, but they remember.

Beverly wrapped her warps tight around his waist and let the cool, cold drops of her tears glide down slim cheeks and sink into the fabric below.

“ He doesn’t give a shit about himself, Stan...Remember when we were kids? When he got hit with that rock, in the head?...He said he would tell his parents, let them take care of him or, or take him to the hospital..something..” She stopped to sniff.”...but..but we all know he didn’t...He, remember? He came to school the next day...looking like shit...and, and..that mother fucker told us-“ She pointed at the sleeping man with a stiff finger and stretched grimace.” Told us he was fine. Said ‘he got the good drugs going on his blood work right now and can’t feel a damn thing’ like...why did none of us pick up on that?” She scanned the group with an accusing glare.” Why were we so stupid to ignore that? He got worse, and worse, to the point he missed more school that he would have if he’d just gone to the doctor...His parents didn’t even know he had a concussion til a week later...a week!” Beverly cried, anguish in her voice as tears rolled down the curves of her face and dripped into the creases of her lips.

Beverly let her shoulders fall, staring blankly at nothing.“ Why did we let him do that?” 

Bill winced backwards at the question, biting his lip. He folded down on himself- what he always did when he felt he was being scolded- and angled his head down so that he had to strain his eyes to met Beverly’s.

“ w..we wuh were kids, b-Bev...We d..didn’t know b-better...”

That wasn’t the right response.

Snapping up, Beverly gave Bill the most heated glare she had ever given anyone- him- in a while.

“ That’s no excuse, Bill and you know it!” She pointed her finger at the author this time, accusingly.” You knew something was wrong with Richie, I knew something was wrong with him! We all did!” Beverly threw her hands out in exaggeration.” But we didn’t nothing! We let him get sicker, and sicker, til he was throwing up every day and fucking had to force his parents to bring him to the hospital! That’s not what friends do!”

Mike blinked sadly and rubbed the back of his neck.” Bev...I, we..Know we were stupid but, it turned out okay! I mean, look! He’s still here, he’s kicking, he’s fine...we’re fine!” Mike, ever the one to try and light up a bad situation, smiled warmly at Beverly- no mater how threatening her tear stained glare looked.

“ You can’t just blame something we did as kids on yourself- us- now, Bev...We did the best we could and learned a lot from our mistakes and, isn’t that what matters the most? Our growth from children into adults?”

Beverly scowl seemed to deepen.” Thats very positive, coming from you, Mike....but, I’m not so sure I’d really want to take advice from a psychopath that never fucking left their home town..and fucking stalked murder scenes cause you thought it was the clown.” Her face seemed to drop all emotion as she air quoted ‘clown’ with her fingers.

“ You did lie to us about coming here, and the ritual, after all....nearly got yourself killed...”Her eyes turned dead as she turned to Mike. The dried tears on her face giving a ghostly impression at the turned to crust.  
“ Almost got us killed....and then, where would you be? All alone, again...but, this time, because it was your fault.” Beverly sneered, putting more emphasis on the word ‘us’.

Eddie let out an offense growl and leaned towards Beverly, but was stopped by one of Mike’s strong hands, and showed his teeth.

“ Shut the fuck up, Bev. You have no right to fucking treat him like that. Especially with how your fucking life turned out.” 

Mike’s face contorted into shock.” Eddie..” He warmed with a small voice as both Bill and Ben, gave the analysts warning glares.

Eddie was obvious, and he shook Mike’s hand off his shoulder.

“ What? It’s not like I’m wrong, am I?” Eddie shrugged his shoulders, giving his friends a forced laugh.” She married her fucking dad! That’s insane, isn’t it!” He turned to Bev with a malicious smile.” She went through all that abuse just to get more abuse! I mean, she was fucking asking for it!”

Bill and Ben sit up at the same time, but Ben beat the author first.

“ You shut your fucking hypocrite mouth right there, Kaspbrak! You have to business talking to Bev like that when you went and married your own fucking mother!” Ben’s outburst when it came to defending Beverly was not a surprise, but the language he used was definitely.

Bill followed the architect up.” Yeah! It’s like you fucking made a carbon copy of your own mother! Down to the fat ass and everything!” Bill leaned in-front of Stan to poke Eddie in the chest.” Seems you were asking for it as well!”

Eddie harshly shoves Bill’s hand away Form his chest.” Don’t you fucking touch me Mr. ‘ I can’t write an ending for shit cause I blame myself for killing my brother’! I’ll fucking kill you!” Eddie threatened, nearly shooting forward to wrap his hands around Bill’s throat, until Mike held him back.

“ Hey, calm down dude, that’s not cool.” Mike chastised.” Lets all just take a deep breath and calm down, this doesn’t have to get physical.”

Bill, who was being held back by a quite Stan from pummeling Eddie, scoffed.” Thats so fucking rich, Mike! So fucking rich!...Hey!” Bill excitedly popped up in his place, no longer pushing against Stan.” How about I insult your dead parents about how you let them burn! Huh? Does that sound fun? Huh?”

Eddie pulled harder against Mike’s hold, almost slipping through the others grasp as the shock of what Bill said started to sink in.  
“ Hey! You fucker! Shut the fuck up! Mike was a toddler when his parents died! A fucking child! You, on the other hand, could of saved Georgie! He would still be here if you hadn’t of fucking lied about being sick, you bitch!”

Ben surged up from his bed, not caring that he basically threw Richie’s leg off of his and got in Eddie’s face.” I’ll fucking punch you till you’re unrecognizable if you don’t quit it, Eddie! Just drop it!” Spit from Ben’s mouth sprayed over Eddie’s cheek, and that cause his to laugh.

“ Oh! Well isn’t this funny! Who let the fat dog out of his cage, eh?” Eddie mocked, showing his teeth.” Hungry, aren’t you? Fatso! Just salivating at the mouth! Bet you want to eat me whole, don’t ya?” Eddie cackled, unaffected by the fact that Ben was twice his size, muscle wise, and could kill him with a single punch.

“ Don’t you fucking talk to him that way, Kaspbrak! Don’t you dare!” Beverly screeched, throwing herself up from a sitting position on the mattress to get in Eddie’s face, mimicking Ben but without the spit.  
“ You have no place, being a fucking skinny rail, like you are! He’ll break your neck before you even take a puff of that sugar water in your inhaler!” She threatened, baring her teeth in the same fashion as Eddie.

Stan, having been silent through the whole ordeal, placed his hand on Ben’s shoulder.” Hey...guys, please. Can we calm down for a minute? This isn’t..healthy..we’re...we’re supposed to be friends, aren’t we?” His voice waivers, on the edge of crying.

Just a few minutes ago they had all promised each other that they’d be together forever...that they’d never forget each other, again.  
He shared a kiss with Bill- ducking famous author Bill Denbrough who had a fucking wife! 

How could it of all just gone so wrong in the matter of seconds? How could they grasp their happy ending, with both hands locked tightly around it, and then let it slip away in a flash flood of resentment and trauma?   
They all loved each other....didn’t they?

What went wrong...?

Stan wiped away the premature wetness from his eyes.” We promised each other that’d we’d be together forever! Didn’t we?” His voice starts to become hysterical.” We Just did, a few minutes ago! We all said we wouldn’t forget, and that we love each other! Why did that...why does it no-“ Stan stopped his ranting, face frozen in realization as he stiffly turned his head.

The sight of Richie sleeping so soundly- with a near hole in his back- and a small smile of his aging face struck a never in Stan’s heart. 

They’d all been fine- just fine- until that fucking washed up comedian ruined it...

Fucking attention whore just HAD to be selfish and get all the ‘boo hoo’s’ and ‘Poor baby’s’ for himself because he doesn’t know how to function- let alone be an actual adult...

He just had to mock them all with his own trauma, but what trauma was there? Richie lived a good life, one of the best- only the best- lives within the circle of losers? Why does he even deserve their pity, sympathy, help or anything at all?

Why does he deserve to be a loser?

Stan felt his eye twitch with deep seated anger- filling his brain with a chemical that made his vision turn blood red- and gritted his teeth.

Pushing a confused, but still angry, Bill aside He climbed over Ben’s legs and, without warning, gripped the back of Richie’s head and began to shake it wildly.

No one stopped him- nor objected..

“ You did this- you, you mother fucking asshole! You fucking bitch! I hate you!” Stan paused his shaking to punch the side of Richie’s head- knuckles coming back throbbing.” I wish you fucking died in that cave! I wish he killed you! I wish you’d fucking got your face ripped off from that god damn spider head of me! Because I want to be the last face you see before you’re dead!” Stan ignored the tears running down his face, as well the cramp in his shaking arms, and got up close to the still- surprisingly- sleeping mans ear.

It was all his fault.

“ I wish you really did go missing that day...I wish the poster would of been true, because,” Stan pauses to cackle and wipe a tear from dripping onto his lips.” It would of been a true blessing...he..haha...hahaha!” Stan threw his head back in a deep, chest filled laughter.

His smile was stretched, and teeth sharp and shinny, and looked as if it belonged in a cage. The whites of his eyes just made the small pupils in his iris pop out like a monster in some dark hole.   
Surprising, and scary...a look that would kill you.

“ A fucking blessing...” Stan repeated to himself, clenching the wad of greasy hair between his fists like it was a dying animal- and he was the beast.

Looking down, crazed smile still pushing at his cheeks, Stan gave another harsh jerk of the hair.

The sleeping man didn’t respond, and Stan’s smile dropped on one side. 

He gave a breathy laugh, a ring of red appearing around one of his pupils, and pulled at Richie’s hair with a loud grunt....but, still...the man stayed quite.

Stan stiffly let go of Richie’s hair- almost letting out a chuckle when the mans face hit the pillow with a soft ‘thwump’- and shoved both Ben, and Bev’s, feet away so he could get a clear view of the bruise of Richie’s back. 

It was so raw...a clear and crisp cut, surrounded by sprinkles of scrapes and globes of smaller bruises...a masterpiece of work that any talented person could imitate with a bit of fake blood and Vaseline...child’s play.

Stan’s smile seemed to reach his ears...the he started to sway.

“ Oh, of the children,” Stan sings, crawling his hand up from the bae of Richie’s spine.” All tucked in their beds...” His Hand hovers at the outer edge of the bruise as he studies its curves a discolored mush. Admiring the way it makes the skin on the comedians back bubble up like a piece of dough being stacked on another piece...Stan presses the biggest bump with the tip of his finger.

Richie squirms beneath him, face scrunching up in an annoying pain, and it ignited a new emotion within the accountant.   
His chest grows tight, skin starts to sweat, and mouth goes dry as he watches the man squirm beneath him like an ant trapped beneath a boot.

Helpless...pathetic....and all laid out for him to enjoy...

Stan giggles, something he has taken ever done, and positions himself to straddle the backs of Richie’s legs.

“ All tucked in their beds...”Stan continues singing...and lets the euphoria of it all..over whelm him. 

Closing his eyes, he lets his head roll back and takes deep breath in.

“ Sleeping so soundly,” The feel of his Adam’s apple scrapping against the I sit of his throat makes Stan go wild with need. Tilting his head back up, he licks his lips and circles the perfect bruise on his friends back one last time. His insides do flips as Richie wiggles beneath his finger- and the whimper almost sends Stan off the deep end.

Getting good inhale of fresh air, he shoves a finger deep into the crease of Richie’s scare- senses going wild at the feel of dry blood and skin breaking beneath his nail- and laughs loudly.

“ as if they were dead...haha...” His tone is agnate like a pot heads- all breezy and slow moving with the feel of sunshine and rainbows creeping over the tips of his breath.  
He wiggles in his spot, happy and ignorant, as the other losers gather around him to watch. 

The interest and need in their eyes clear as day as they watch their resident...’sky kid’ tear a deeper hole into their clowns back.  
Mouth all twitch with hunger.

Stan prides himself in that moment. He’s on top- for once- and holds the ultimate power that could make either of his friends drip with excitement- but, not in THAT way..you freaks...more like...a blunt excitement when on a roller coaster....your chest pooling with the weight of the wind against you and stomach flipping at each turn....an adrenaline shot...

He wants more of it....

Ripping more through the skin on Richie’s back, reminiscing in the smell of copper that wafts through the air, Stan begins to chant.

“ Come on, baby..It’s no fun if one of us is asleep...wake up for me, Tozier...come play..please?” He asks innocently- while simultaneously plunging another finger into the slit of a scar left behind by some jagged rock.” Please...baby...wake up for me, Tozier.”

Richie squirms beneath the stares of each other, sweat dripping down his uncomfortable face as he tries to find a comfortable position for his head to sleep in. The itching in his back grows and grows as Stan adds a new finger to explore and wiggle in the pool of his spine.  
Static buzzes in the back of his ears.

The other losers join in Stan’s, and all come closer to the action, with monotone voices.

“ Wake up for me, Tozier...wake up, baby..” Eddie slips his hand into Stan’s bloody one, catching the others eyes, and kisses the end of Stan’s lips with a smirk.

“ Wake up, you dirty boy...wake up for me, Tozier.” Bill and Ben gather near Richie’s head, playing a game of ‘wish bone’ with his hair as they try and see who can pull out the longest strands.

A headache grows at the tip of Richie’s forehead...and all normal sound begins to fade into old TV noise.

“ Wake up, baby...get up, puke boy...wake up for me, Tozier.” Mike goes to the place on Richie’s hip, the one covered in small scrapes, and starts to pick at the scabbed over cuts with his fingers nail. Flicking away the dried blood into the darkness of the shadows before going at it again.

“ Wake up, attention whore...wake up for me, Tozier...” Beverly sits herself at Bill’s side, across from Mike, and starts to scratch he sharpest nail into the softness of Richie’s back.  
Repeating over the same motion with dead eyes as blood starts to deep through the surface of her constant drilling, and stains the tip of her nail.

Richie feels his stomach lurch and the static in his ears makes the headache thump against his head like speakers in an old Toyota....just loud and blaring...no base...only noise.

Sweat coats his face- his whole body feels sticky and gross- and everything itches.

“ Wake up, baby...Wake up for me, Tozier..”

He wants to- he can’t.

“ Wake up. Wake up for me, Tozier...”

Stop it- he can’t.

“ Wake up for me, Richie Tozier...”

Stop scratching, stop itching, it hurts.

“ Wake up, Richie Tozier...”

Okay! He will! He wants to! Wake him up! Wake him up! He can’t breathe! He can’t see! It hurts! It all hurts!   
He knows what he’s done wrong! Wake him up, and he’ll fix it! He’ll do it! He swear! Wake him up! Wake him up! Let him fix it! Let him wake up-

It feels like his spine just snapped in half...


	2. A clean breaking end

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Awaken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt as if the story was too long for this ‘complicated’ tale and decided to split it into two chapters.
> 
> Thank you to those who have already read the whole thing- and thank you to those who are just now reading it.  
> I hope you enjoy

“Richie! Wake up! Oh there he is, buddy! Hey, I think I got him-“

Hands press down on his shoulders.”I think I killed it!” Eddie.” Haha! I think I killed it!”

Richie forced his eyes open....then wishes he didn’t.

From the darkness behind him, and the silhouette of a mans shoulder- not from a room, nor outside but, a cave- a claw strikes out...heading their way..

Richie, watching as the claw slowly flies closer, stops to think. It’s not a very long thought, no...but...he just can’t help to ponder-

“ Rich-! Ed-! Look out!”

His focus breaks as a scream echos in his ear.

The claw regains speed, clawing through the musty sewer air, and Richie does as well.  
Automatically grabbing the mans shoulders above him, something he’s familiar with, Richie uses the twinge of power left in his body to throw them both out of dangers path- barely escaping the claws target, as well missiles of small rocks that shoot in to the side of his uncovered skin-they dash off.

He pulls Eddie along with him into a nearby cave, chest heaving with panic and adrenaline, and goes down deep into carven till he deems it ‘safe’ to rest and...Well,

Looking around the the rocks, not yet absorbing the shock of a crack in his spine without pain, and the muffled ringing of other voices that pile into the cave after them...Richie realizes...possibly, a little late, that....

He’s lived through this before.

~~~

The feel of a gooey heart disintegrating in his hands, the way his chest heaves while sprinting for his life alongside the other losers, how his feet seem to sprint across the rocky ground without even touching it, and how fuzzy he is when watching the house collapse in front of his own, tired eyes is....all the same.

But..they’re out..they’re out, yeah? It’s good.

He waits for the crunch of the house top windows- watches to see if he can catch a glimpse of old attic flooring that can be seen through the glass less square hole- and shrivels at the way a sudden silence settles over the atmosphere- like a thick blanket- around him. 

The losers, breathing hard and- in Bill’s case- lean against Mike to let out a collective sigh of relief. One that makes Richie’s spine tingle, more than it already is doing, and he lets out his own sigh.

And it’s truly wonderful...it feels as if a thousand days of stress, anxiety, and shame have all been...wiped clean. He feels content- in the moment- and his heart no longer aches with the pulling weight of a chain filled love that at settled at the bottom of his lake of problems.  
He feels..free.

It’s great- really....great..

Sweat builds up on his forehead, as well gather in pools under his armpits and around his crotch.

A cloud is covering the sun...and a cool breeze blows pasted his cheek...yet, he still feel hot...and sweaty.

He takes a deep breath...and nearly chokes when his throat tries to lurch from his insides.

It’s nothing to be worried about- he did just run for the first time in over twelve years- and he resorts to shallows breaths.

No matter how self conscious it makes him...all the losers are breathing hard...it’s fine...

Fine.

Richie’s eyes start to drop without his permission as the adrenaline that’d been coursing through his veins for the past 24 hours finally dissipates. It’s replaced with pins and needles, mostly down the majority of his legs, and his left wrist.

It simmers there for a few moments, bubbling, snapping and pooling up the whole span of his appendage, like that pop rocks candy on his tongue...slowly swirling from fun and ticklish to...more painful as the feeling grows.

He flicks his wrist a few times and, yeah, somethings definitely broken. Bone shifts beneath his skin, like a worm, did not used to happened before. The tips of his fingers start to become numb with a blinding, new hurt, and fingers start to twitch uncontrollably.

Richie thinks back to Mike’s hurt wrist, how it got beat on by both Bowers, the clown in just hours apart, and think that they could be cast buddies?

...yeah, cast buddies! That’s a funny joke, right? Something to lighten the mood? Yeah!

Richie smiles to himself and twists his neck-

...oh, oh that’s not right..

He feels it all like hot fire.

His throat feels thick, and tight- as if I’d been glued together- with his stomach gurgling with the need to throw up. Somethings wrong, very wrong, with him but his mouth- for once in his god damn life- refuses to crack.

Oh no..

Eddie, standing so close to Richie it feels like he’s glued to his side, doesn’t notice a thing. His sewage covered face is flushed with a light pink and big gasps of breath are sucked in through his perfect teeth and then is expelled with a long hissing noise.

A breathing technique he’s used on himself, multiple times, back in the day...and one Richie’s always fell into routine with before going on the big stage.

He finds himself doing that right now, possibly with shorter breaths,...to mention it...

Richie feels a chuckle want to erupt from his throat, but a sharp pinch in his spine stops him.

He goes back to breathing and hissing..but, thinking.

It’s kinda funny how their lives turned out...they remembered certain things about them, the other losers- maybe even act a little bit like them to make up for the loss of their presence beside you- or get a whole new ass person, carbon copy- and just....flow with it. Then, when they finally meet them again...it all makes sense and..and it’s like you can act like yourself again..

And not a puppet.

Richie grimaces, facing away from the group, and rubs a hand up and down the side of his back.

Everything hurts. His legs are shaking to keep him standing and his toes seem to curl and uncurl without him wanting too...He also worries that he can’t feel the tightness of his to-small shoes squeeze his feet...he also can’t feel the shoes, or socks, at all.....and he remembers putting some itchy socks on this morning...

What...is...what?

Richie hunches over a bit- not enough to look noticeable but, just bad posture, nonetheless.

It relieves nothing.

Beverly, standing behind him with Ben’s arm wrapped around her, suggests they go and visit the quarry...’y’know..for old times sake.’ And start heading down the dirt road that seemed to defy the aging of time and kept its rugged, sketchy look for the last 27 years.

He hears them walk away, sees Eddie’s shoes leave his vision as he’s looking down, but doesn’t follow. Their steps are even and slow, as Bill hobbles slightly beside Mike- Stan on his free side..just in case- and dust kicks up behind them.

Richie wants to follow them- to move his legs- and the fact that he can’t even roll his shoulders back cause his eyes to water.

No...no, no! 

His knees threaten to buckle beneath him- shaking like twigs in a very strong wind- and his thighs don’t ache with the stress of running around a cave for one hour, as they should be doing at his age...

A tear slips from his water line as he painfully tries to straighten his back- face scrunching up in pain as he cranes himself up. His neck twinges and the top of his spine feels he’s about to snap off like the ‘hook’, or whatever its called, on one of those plastic, mechanical pencils. He holds back a cry.

But, once he’s up...and as straight as he can be, no pun intended, he places both hands on his hips and throws his head back to stretch out the soreness of his back. Hoping against hope that it’s just the shock of falling- nearly 10 feet- and lets out a deep sigh.

The sticky sweat forming on his brow line curves down the crease of his eye- stinging it a bit- over his Adam’s apple and soaks into the soft fabric of his dirty shirt. Leaving behind a thin line of tingling that starts to itch- a lot- but can’t be scratched.

Richie lets out a deep sigh and, ever so slowly, leans back into his hands...completely oblivious to the tight pressure that gathers near the base of his spine.

A bird sings over head while a car speeds past the beging of the dirt road at a mileage that would scare any sane person with children nearby but...this is Derry- who cares?

Definitely not Richie Tozier.

He takes pleasure in how the sun warms up the deep chill that settles within his bones- smile growing on his tired face and immune to the sweat starting to cool on his cheeks that make his skin feel icky, and crusty.

Nothing feels wrong...in that distinct moment but, he knows- deep down, in the pits of his mind- that the moment doesn’t last forever.

Not even in a happy ending.

It’s when he’s looking straight up at the sun, and the sound of someone walking back towards him, does he realize it’s too late to regret what he’s done...

Like an arrow strung tight on a bow- something snaps.  
It’s not a literal snap, nor does it make a noise but...somethings moves, something important at the bottom of his spine shifts and suddenly....he can’t feel anything below his legs.

Eddie’s the one walking towards him...and he’s the one to catch him as he falls.

“ Hey, Trashmouth, you alright? Nothin’ broken, hopefully? You know, we don’t have to go to the quarry- actually, I think we should-..Jesus, Richie!” Eddie surges forward to catch the other man. Arms wrapped tightly under his armpits. 

He badly registers the fact that Eddie lower him down onto his back, and is now hovering over him like he did in the cave. The ecstatic expression replaced with unbelievable fear.

Richie feels himself start to drift, and the sun grows brighter in the sky. He’s sweating uncontrollably, now...

He misses Eddie’s frantic blubbering to settle his shortness of breath.” Richie? Richie! Oh my god, oh my god! Please, stay awake, oh my god! What’s wrong, what’s wrong? You gotta tell me what’s wrong, Richie, please!” He cups one of Richie’s sweat, slicked cheeks with a free hand, and starts to tap it lightly when he sees the other mans eyes start to flutter closed.

“ Don’t you fucking fall asleep when I’m talking to you, Tozier!”

Behind them, a thundering of feet shake the gravel road and kick thick puffs of dust into the air. Their worried voices are just high pitches of a triangle ringing in his ears.

Richie winces as a headache thunders in his mind, and feels himself trap one of Eddie’s hands in a death grip- either with the hurt wrist, or not...he can’t tell- and patiently lets Eddie, and the others losers, fret over him like a hurt donkey.

Which...he’s not really that far off from...

Beverly, Ben not far behind, basically throws herself at Richie’s side. Short red hair glistening with dried blood in the big, hot sun- some of it sticking to the curve of her sharp cheeks bones.  
Her pale face mixes with the brightness of the sky’s pale yellow, and Richie feels like he’s on a trip as the blend of white and red starts to speak to him. 

“ Eddie? Eddie! What’s wrong?! Oh god, Richie! Honey, sweetie, what’s wrong? Can you hear me? Please, stay awake! Oh god!” Her voice cracks with a hearty, wet sob that makes Richies stomach do a little dance.

He swallows the pool of saliva that’s gathering in his mouth, only to have it come right back up and drip of the corners of his mouth. 

Resulting in a few shocked ‘ oh shits!’ And ‘Richie!’ that have someone sprinting off to god knows where- maybe to get the car- and leaves a total of five faceless, blobs that dance over his head.

Something cold and wet drips on his face- maybe a tear- and is quickly wiped away, along with the drool and sweat, with a section of someone’s dry sleeve.  
“ Richie,” It’s Stan.” Richie, please be ok..oh...have mercy..We just got everyone back!” The man wails like a child- loud with grief as his face contorts into a mess of lines and wrinkles as he cries.

It’s probably an ugly sight to anyone watching...but, Richie can’t see his friends face..and only withers in pain at the sound of his friends cries.

A car approaches them- speeding, definitely- and comes to a quick jerking stop just a few feet from where Richie collapsed.  
One of the figures- pale with a single strike of grey hair- heads off in the direction of car door slamming shit- their silhouette struggling a bit to stand up and screams something that- to Richie- sounded either like,

“ Mike! Oh god, help me get him into the car!”

Or,

“Mite! Uh gah, lep em guht im en zu der ka!”

The second ones like a jumble of frantic words being spewed under water by a growing victim...who’s deaf...and he fears it’s not just his legs that aren’t working properly.

Above him a blur with sharp edges cups a shaky, but soft, hand behind his head and starts to cautiously ease him up- like if he was in one of those chairs at the orthodontist- leans him against his chest.

Richie whimpers as the man, it’s Ben, lightly pets his hair.

“It’s okay, buddy- Richie- you’re okay..you’re okay..” The architect cooed, resting Richie’s head in the crook of his shoulder, and moving his arm to cradle the mans torso.” You’re okay, buddy, we’re gonna get you help- it’s gonna be okay?...can you stand for me, buddy?” 

The question is like a stone being driven into his forehead- it’s pounding, and weighted with something that could destroy any hope spurring in their hearts.  
Nearly a death sentence.

Richie’s face scrunches up in a cry- uglier than Stan’s, he knows- and another spurt of drool that’s been pooling in the air pocket of his cheek dribbles out.  
He can’t shake his head.

“ I...I can’t, Ben...” He chokes.” I c..can’t do it, Ben!” A loud, child like, wet wheeze makes his chest rumble and cool tears start to drip from his tightly closed eyes to mingle with the thick sweat flowing down his neck.  
He grimaces as someone brushes away a strand of wet hair from his forehead, and only gripes Eddie’s hand tighter.

A sob from his left is sharply cut off as the source of the sound cups his mouth and abruptly pushes themselves back from his limp body and starts to pace.

“ Oh god, oh god, Bill! Bill! I can’t! I can’t do this! Oh god...I can’t!” Stan cries hysterically, while Bill stumbles to grip the mans shoulders, and weeps into the plaid button down.” I can’t do this! I can’t do this!”

Bill hugs the man close to his chest, one arm wrapped tightly around Stan’s waist, and a hand buried into the others curly hair. He lets the male cry tears, and snot into his neck, and looks down at Richie with big, glassy eyes, and tightly pursed lips.

Richie thinks he hears the man whisper sweet nothings to his distressed friend, something along the lines of what Ben had been whispering to him, but...he feels as fine the words are directed to him, as well....and it just makes him cry more.

Ben’s eyes are red with tears that he refuses to let fall and imprints of the tips of his teeth from biting them to keep his hidden sobs at bay. 

“Okay, that’s okay, Richie, that’s okay, we’ll....we’ll help you up, it’ll be okay..” 

Richie doesn’t take the cracks in Ben’s voice with much relief, and lets his head- limply- fall back so he can meet the beautiful mans face. 

He almost feels betrayed for what he’s about to reveal- as if it was a secret that would ruin the other mans life, as well the ones around him, and plague the rest of his days with a fog of guilt and anxiety.

Swallowing the first bit of drool in a while, Richie coughs to gather Ben’s attention...and stares deep into the others eyes.

“ Ben...Ben, no...you..you don’t uhn- under stand..I can’t, I can-“

“Richie, it’s okay! It’s okay...I swear, I- we got you, it’s going to be okay.” Ben Interrupts, mistaking the pain filled confession got ashamed weakness.” We’ll get your up and running in no time! Just relax for me, please? Buddy?”

Richie cackles wetly. ‘Up and running’ ha! Like he had ever been running in the first place! 

‘Ironic.’

Eddie, having been quietly panicking the whole time, covers the back of Richie’s hand with his other palm and leans in closely. The shape of his nose the most prominent thing that pokes through his white blob of a face.

“What’s wrong, Rich? Please, don’t laugh, not now, please...what’s wrong?”

Richie doesn’t have the heart to look in Eddie’s eyes, and only lets his head grow heavier onto Ben’a shoulder.  
He’s getting tired.

Closing his eyes, but squeezing Eddie’s hand to show he’s still...semi-conscious, Richie lets more drool bubble in his throat.

“ I can’t feel my legs.” And everything goes quiet for a moment. So quite that, Richie thinks his ears have gone deaf and repeats himself, louder, this time.  
A fuzziness growing in his mind.

“ I can’t feel my legs...Ben...Eddie...I can’t feel them...”

Then he’s out like a light.

~~~

Hours, possibly days, later Richie wakes up to the distinct smell of lemony piss and a warm, clammy sensation that slowly starts to spread out beneath him.  
He’s laying flat down on a bed, probably a hospital bed, that’s thin sheets are soaked with sweat and...well...piss.

Wonderful- not even in his mid fifties yet, and his bladders already gone and failed him...how embarrassing...good thing it’s not on his own bed, though. 

Who wants to clean piss sheets? Ha! Not him.

Something above him clicks on and a gust of cool air blows through what’s left of his hair on his head.It’s utterly quite, in whatever room he’s in, that the vibration of his ghastly breathing make his ears start to ring.

The luke warm, moist feeling crawls up his back- more itching- but disappears sharply from his hips down. He feels nothing touching his hips, or the rest of his legs...not even the thin sheets.  
It’s all numb.

Trying to flex any muscle in his legs, Richie only succeeds in straining his chest and arms that shoots an electric shot of pain through his left shoulder.  
He mewls softly...but takes pleasure in the way his throat vibrates without much, or any, pain- and does it again.

“ mmm..mmMhm...” 

It’s nearly orgasmic,

He wants to do it again but, Richie’s ears pick up the sounds of someone cursing beside him and then rushing off into the distance. Which is strange since the comedian didn’t even feel anyone else presence beside him...or even in the room.

Squeaky shoes thump against nicely, cleaned tile.

Richie doesn’t stay conscious long enough to hear them return.

~~~

The next time Richie’s conscious gains enough energy to push through his fog of sleep, there’s no piss...but, its the hum of ‘Its not usual’ coming from, what sounds like, and old radio by Tom Jones that fills his ears.

‘ If you should ever want to be loved my anyone  
It’s not unusual it happens every day  
No matter what you say.’

He hasn’t listened to it a while- maybe since the losers last year of middle school together, before Bev moved away- but the memories of him wildly dancing around the clubhouse with one of the losers at his mercy becomes clear as day. 

‘ you find it happens all the time  
Love will never do, what you want it to  
Why can’t this crazy love be mine?’

A thick cast is wrapped around his left wrist- he only realizes it after trying to tap his fingers to the beat- and acts like a paper weight for his arm.  
There’s no pain coming from his shoulder, and his legs still remain dead to the rest of him, but a warm hand clasped tightly within his limp one captures his senses.

He only acknowledges that someone is talking when the hand starts to bounce.

“ Any of you guys remember how he would dance when this song came on?” It’s Eddie, of course it is, and the questions not directed at him.

A light scratching on his cast pulls Richie to the other side of his body. This time, he can feel someone’s shadow ‘looming’ over him.

“ Oh, I don’t think I’ll ever forget...” Stan quietly replies.” He always had a talent for being annoying but...his dancing was on a whole other level of crazy frustrating...” Stan, even though Richie can’t see it, gazed at the sleeping mans face with so much love and adoration in his eyes. Smiling.

“I miss it...” Stan stops his scratching to gently rub a thumb over the span of Richie’s casted wrist.

A weird sensation for the sleeping man, to tell the truth.

Someone near the farthest side of the room snorts into their fist, Beverly, and soon erupts the whole room into a small episode of laughter that fizzles out like a sparkler.

Richie tries to move his right hand- and is unsuccessful.

The losers are oblivious.  
“ Yeah..yeah, me too..” Eddie’s voice turns somber at the end, but he perks up quickly. “Remember the time he twirled me into one of the clubhouse support beams? Dancing to I will survive? nearly had the thing cave in on us...the stupid fuck.” He jokes, temporarily letting go of the trashmouth’s hand to gingerly comb his own through a lock of Richie’s- weirdly clean and knot free- hair.

Ben, sitting beside Beverly with his arms crossed, gives a slow shake of the head. Smiling.  
“ Almost ruined all my good, hard work cause of Gloria Gaynor...imagine that.” 

A few chuckles circle around the room, and then it’s quiet again. 

Richie doesn’t remember falling asleep.

~~~

It’s approaching two days since that last time Richie was ‘awake’ that he finally has the strength to open his eyes.

He wakes up to an empty room. No music, talking, or weird smells. Just lemon scent and white walls. Reminding him why he doesn’t like hospitals.

Richie tries to prop himself into a sitting position, his arms shaking from disuse, and gets halfway up before admitting defeat then settling back down into his arm bed with a content sigh.  
From then on, he can no longer move anything but his eyes.

He wishes someone was here.

It’s dark out, but the soft glow of light pooling under the door from a hallway of busy doctors and patients walking about tells him that this place is like the city that never sleeps. Someone surly would check in on him soon, right?  
Possibly a doctor, the losers already asleep by this time, that would come to see If he’s pissed himself again- Or worse.

“ Ew.” Richie sticks out his tongue at the thought.” Bad Richie.” His voice full of dope and sloppy pronunciation as his lips stretch farther out and quirk to the sides when he tries to say any vowel.  
It’s less noticeable with the i’s but, the o’s are a different story.

“ luahve will never dauho, what yuh want it tooo.” It tingles on his lips, the o’s, and make his brain fire into a mess of giggles and suppressed energy.

His limbs are stiff from sitting in an old, stale hospital bed for hours- his adhd longs for some movement, or distraction, something to keep him busy til a hot nurse, he doesn’t really believe they’re hot, comes to give him a sponge bath.

Richie passes time counting the number of buttons on each machine, tries to control the way his heart beats on the monitor and plays with his bottom lip as it it where an elastic band. Pulling it with his and then releasing over and over again until his mouth started to hurt and he felt his energy wane.

Closing his eyes with a loud huff the door to his room opens- bathing his eyelids in a bright white light for half a second, before being closed again.

Richie choses not to spook whatever poor fellow got saddled with his crippled ass cause- yes, he knows what the fuck happened to him- they definitely aren’t getting paid the amount they deserve, for sure.  
Plus, he’s still tried.

Whoever entered the room doesn’t turn on the light and carefully tip toes around the room- moving things that sounded like medical tools or trays- and scribbling down results from the machines.

Richie hears the man- a man, yes- make a slight ‘humpf’ and forces himself not to peak.

And good thing he did, too, cause a moment later the mans shadow bathes Richie’s torso on an even darker shade of black. His heart starts to beat a little quicker- Richie hopes the man doesn’t notice- and eye balls freeze their movement behind his eye lids.

Wouldn’t want to give away the fact he awake, now would he?

The man stands over him like a gargoyle on one of those old churches. Stone still with little, to no, coherent breathing that sends Richie’s mind reeling.

Do nurses really watch their patients while they sleep?...I mean, if dire situations it’s needed but...is he not stable?  
Weird.

Richie ponders on the idea of snapping his eyes open to fuck the guy, and maybe catch him for peeking but- and he can’t feel much of it- a slight pressure pushes down on his bladder and...yeah...

A warm sensation coats his back.

The man lets out a disgusted grunt, removes his hand, and leaves the room without another word. Not to even press the call button, or get another nurse to clean it up.  
He. Just...leaves? 

Richie, to say the least, is frankly shocked still. No way that fucking just happened! Right? It must be some crazed, fucked up, drug dream cause, that dude did not just fucking make Richie pee himself, he did not! It did not happen!

The smell of urine and liquid squishing against his back begs to differ...

Richie goes to bed that night without opening his eyes again....the next morning, catching himself so that he doesn’t flinch, someone’s scrubbing him clean with a sponge and the sheets below him are piss free.

It’s awkwardly silent the whole time he gets washed, but the nurses commentary about how much she hates getting stuck with ‘ coma paraplegic’ patients makes up for it...

..Not really.

~~~

Richie jolts awake- after the sponge bath- successfully scaring the nurse that’d been scrubbing his...ahem, without wanting to and is immediately bombarded with questions.

“Mr.Tozier, can you hear me?”

“How do you feel?”

“What’s your pain level?”

“Is there any striking pain in your head?”

Questions that just strain him to think about- he tells the nurse that- and requests her to just call a doctor.

The nurse shuts her mouth without another word and leaves the room in search of a doctor with the tub of soapy water and sponge in hand.

Richie will not miss her.

The doctor, Dr.Giemen, that is checking his vitals- it’s not the guy that came into Richie’s room last night- makes him breathe deeply then comments about the abnormality that’d occurred at times between 3:14 and 3:45 on his heart monitor- and it makes the comedian break out into obnoxious laughter.

Giemen wasn’t happy when Richie explained why.

~~~

Fast approaching feet- like a stampede- coming up the hall interrupt Dr. Giemen’s ongoing check up.  
Richie is, fortunately, thankful for the distraction- as Giemen was feeling up and down his thigh, asking Richie when and where he still felt the doctors cold touch, with hard pokes. It was mandatory for his situation- Richie wasn’t an idiot- but, it was still new to him.

The whole...you’re probably paralyzed for life thing..

Anyway, 

Dr.Giemen turns to the door with a sour look on his face, ready to apprehend whoever dared to disturb his work, and is prominently pushed aside by six figures- one after the other crashing against the mans shoulder- with weeks old eye bags and hair that just bleeds the term ‘ I woke up like this.’

But, from the looks his friends give him, Richie guesses his hair looks the same.

~~~

Eddie pulls up a chair by Richie’s bed and holds his sweaty hand as the Doctor reads off a clip board of all the trauma that’s been done to his body.

He thinks the saying ‘complete spinal cord injury’ as well ‘stress fractures’- which really isn’t that bad, since he can’t feel his legs- are gone over but all Richie can focus on is the balding spot on Dr.Giemen’s head as the man repeatedly tries, and fails, not to meet the eyes of any person in the room.  
Strange. 

Maybe Richie was wrong- this guy definitely made him piss the bed.

‘Gross.’

His day dreaming leads the losers to think he’s gone into shock- and Dr.Giemen politely excludes himself from the room so that Richie can have time to ‘digest’ his...’situation.’

But the comedian only notices when the door closes, and Stan all but breaks down into a puddle of tears and snot, that he’s been left alone in a room full of people he’s never seen in the past 27 years.

Stan sobs louder, and Richie attempts to give him the most convincing smile he’s tried to make since the last time his manager, Steve, tried to set him up with Rachel Bilson...it was okay- but he would never do it again.

“ What’s with the water works, Stanley the Manley? My ugly mug to much for ya..?” He coughs from the dryness of his throat and Eddie immediately has a glass of water at his lips. Richie doesn’t make a comment- like, I don’t need help. my arms still work, silly!- but he refrains from doing so and lets Eddie slowly tilt his head back and pours the glass of room warm water down his throat.  
Eddie tries to take the glass away after he’s gotten in a few good gulps, but Richie wiggles his head against the palm of Eddie’s hand and downs the whole glass in one go.

It settles like a brick in the bottom of his stomach. Richie almost suspects he’s going to throw up. 

He doesn’t.

~~~

None of the losers are in for any jokes- nor are the tolerating the ones Richie makes on his own behalf.

He learns this when making a comment a after he accidentally wet his hospital bed- for the second time, as the third was due to...whatever the fuck that was- and Eddie had left momentarily to request that a catheter be put ‘in’. 

( Nearly crying as he silently wiped his eyes with a fresh jacket that looked like it cost nine bucks in the Derry hospital gift shop.

Richie doesn’t understand why he crying, though. He’s the one who pissed himself- not the other way around.)

A male nurse, along with Ben and Mike, help lift him into a temporary bed- after being given a quick wash- to change the seats.  
Richie lays his head in the crook of Ben’s shoulder as his limp legs are propped up on two big fluffy pillows, and choses to ignore the way his friend stiffens behind him, and looks up at the man with drug filled eyes.

“ Like one of those ‘piss themselves’ girly dolls, am I right, Ben?” 

The dopey smile on his face does nothing to soothe Ben’s worrisome glare.

“ Beep beep, Richie.” 

Richie’s smile drops from his face. There’s no more commentary coming from his mouth after that.  
Ben relaxes into Richie and runs a tentative hand through curly black hair- carefully getting rid of the knots, as well trying not to get snagged on them, as the clock passes. Richie lets him without complaint.

~~~ 

Eddie is welcomed back into the room by a silently sulking Bill and heads straight to Richie’s side with a kick in his step.  
His hand seems to snap together with Richie’s unbroken one, like a magnet, as he begins to ramble.

“ Richie, god, I’m so fucking sorry. This place is just a fucking hazard full of idiots! I knew we should of taken you to Portland! I knew it! But we didn’t have time...I’ve been so worried about you that, fuck! I’m sorry I didn’t catch it sooner, I should of notified the doctors immediately- I know I should of! Richie, I’m-“

“If you say sorry again for something that wasn’t even your problem- I will throw myself off this bed.” Richie blatantly interrupts, his eyes focused on the small cracks in his glasses that have yet to be fixed, or swapped out with a new pair.” And I mean it...besides, this hospital has always had shit reviews, hasn’t it?” He asks it casually, as if they’re talking about a three star restaurant they’ve gone to at three o’clock in the morning, and is telling his mom the finger nail he’s found in his chicken soup was expected.

Mike, who had been quietly standing beside Ben, tightens his grip on Richie’s shoulder. A polite comfort he’s learned to interpret as a warning each time he’s, somehow, gone overboard.

Richie’s eyes grow heavy, and he falls asleep in Ben’s arms before the sight of Eddie’s constipated worry can send him deeper into the true reality of their trip back to Derry.

He wakes up hours later to any empty room and a catheter shoved into his unresponsive penis.

It’s...not the worst feeling in the world but, what can he do?

Piss the bed again, probably.

~~~

The next few days go as slow as the first day of school in January. They all talk, listen and ask questions when the doctor makes an emotion besides sleep deprived annoyance and eat the gross cafeteria food along side with Richie’s- equally as gross- hospital prescribed dinner.

Just a mush of salt and butter-less potatoes, not green broccoli, and soup broth.

It’s utterly disgusting. Eddie makes him eat it- but doesn’t force him to finish the broth. 

“It’s probably got some kind of funk in it, anyway.” He had said when picking up the barely touched soup bowl.  
“ Also has tons of fat and oils, too.” He mumbles that part under his breath, nevertheless Richie hears it and laughs.

“ You callin’ me fat, Kaspbrak?” 

Eddie jerkingly turns around, his shoulders reaching up to his ears, then visibly relaxes at Richie’s mischievous smile.

He rolls his eyes mockingly and gives the man a found smile.” You’re not fat, Richie..just..big boned..” 

Richie quirks a brow while Eddie leaves the room, and turns to Beverly on his right.  
“ What the fuck does that mean?”

He doesn’t get an answer- but the way Bev’s stagnant frown lifts into a full tooth smile fills Richie with enough satisfaction to rival a cold lizard in the winter sun.

When Eddie gets back, they all play cards on the end of Richie’s bed until visiting hours are up and the losers have to say goodbye.

Richie makes sure to give them all a big hug- which turns out to be kinda hard when they have to lean down to him, for once, and his wrist is still in a cast- but saves one of his biggest, sloppiest of kisses for Stanley Uris and a nuzzle on the neck.

“ Love you, Stanny.” Richie whispers it- actually whispers, not like Eddie- into the curly mans ear as they pull back. The nickname reserved for Richie, and Richie only, bringing up deep memories that had yet to be revived from the killing of Pennywise. Of summer days they spent alone in the woods to watch birds fly or swim in the quarry together without igniting a water fight at every opportunity.  
Stan cupped Richie’s cheek- tried eyes a matching reminiscence to his small smile.

He gives Richie a light kiss on the forehead.” Love you, too, Bubba...sleep well.”

Then he’s alone.

And he’s content.

~~~

Beverly is playing with his unresponsive toes- something he knew was kind of unsanitary, but comforting, in the back of his mind- when the shock of his mobility hits him full force.

‘ Holy fuck his legs are dead.’

Richie doesn’t make a sound. His chest contracts, breathing becomes a minimum, and arms lock up in a temporary muscle spasm. Tears blur the vision of his newly fixed glasses- Bill had gone to get new ones Monday, it’s Thursday- while his fists dig into the thin hospital sheets.

His bottom lip begins to wobble and it makes him self conscious of how childish he must look. How pathetic he is.

Eddie looks up from his book- A Raisin in the Sun- to grasp Richie’s stiff hand in a comforting gestured. Not totally aware of what is about to go down...but knowing what might.

“ Richie?” All losers eyes go to the comedian, and Beverly stops playing with his pinkie toe.

Richie chokes on a small sob. The losers surge from their seats and Eddie shifts his whole body to face him and rubs a hand up and down Richie’s bicep.

“Hey...hey, Richie, Rich. It’s okay. What’s wrong? Are you hurting? What’s the scale? The catheter bothering you?” 

The last question is an attempt at humor- Richie knows- and he cries harder.

Stan ends up on his left- the one with a healing wrist- to settle his head on Richie’s shoulder with an iron, stable grip on his friends bicep. Face void of emotion.

Bev is beside Eddie with her face slowly contorting in a grief stricken mess- how she looked down in the cave when Pennywise nearly killed them- and gripped her hand overs Eddie’s free one. She sniffed looking down and tossed a strand of her hair back as a line tear dripped from her left eye.  
Her face stared to turn red.

“Richie..? Sweetie, what’s the matter?” She asked, her voice muffled by a pool of mucus as the back of her throat. “Please tell us what’s wrong, honey...please?”

All the losers nodded and kneeled down by Richie’s sides. Hands touching some part of his body- except for his legs- as a sign of comfort.

Richie’s chest heaved with a gigantic sob- lungs struggling to breathe as the dead weight of his body seemed to pul him closer and closer to the ground.  
He was sweating again.

Stan pokes his nose into the ticklish spot of Richie’s neck- something they both remembered he would do when Richie felt a little less that fine- his lips seemed to caress the curve of Richie’s neck, to his shoulder, as he gave the man a soft kiss.  
“Breathe, bubba...breathe.”

A bubble of snot popped form Richie’s nose. Ben was quick to grab a tissue from the nearby table to wipe away the disgusting body fluid. He even asked Richie, in his tiny ‘new kid voice, to blow the rest out.  
He did it, but he felt ashamed about it afterwards, and it just just caused him to cry harder.

“ Sst...Stanny...I..I can’t feel my legs, Stanny.” Richie hiccups, engulfing his whole bottom lip to bite his quivering chin.” I can’t..fuh-feel ‘em..I can’t..I-“

“ Shh, Rich, I know,” Stan quiets him, with a gentle caress of the cheek. Tears leak from Stans eyes and his chin also starts to wobble.  
“ I know, Richie...The Doctor told me..us,” Acknowledging the losers all crying in a circle around him is a catastrophic break in Richie’s heart.” I know, Bubba, I know and...And I’m so sorry, baby...I’m...Im so sorry..” Stan’s cries trickle out into muffled sobs as he hides his reddening face in Richie’s hair. The only notion that he’s upset to anyone around him is the consistent hitching of his chest and shoulders.

The losers let Stan have his moment and gather closer. 

Mike- expression somber and tried, pronouncing how old he’s grown from the last 27 years- intertwines his hand with Stan’s, as Beverly had done to Eddie’s, and does the same with Bill.  
On the other side of the bed, Ben and Beverly lock hands.

Their group of grief admits pure raw, emotion- like a fog on a cold December day- and blocks out the headlights of all their trauma, all their heart break, and all their trust. And shoves it into a small box- a time capsule- that they will burry deep in their minds during this exact moment and only retrieve it when the time will be right.

But when is there ever a right time for trauma? 

Not now, not later, not ever.

~~~

Richie accepts the trauma that his body has been through and requests to leave the hospital two weeks later- only by promising Eddie that’s he would take the multiple, there were only three, pills he was prescribed to and go to physical therapy weekly.

Oh- and, of course, let them, the losers, live with him.

Just a few...simple requests. Not hard at all...for some.

The losers leave the hospital on a Wednesday after noon. Richie sits grumpy- albeit, happily- in his wheelchair as Ben pushes him out of the automatic doors and into open fresh air.

Richie looks up at the sun- and with it not being dampened by dark curtains or tinted glass, anymore- it’s bright in his eyes and makes his skin flare with happiness, the hairs of the back of his neck stand up.

He thinks he starts to cry when the losers stop by a car that doesn’t seem to belong to any of them, and Bev is kneeled before him with the familiar worried expression on her face as she cups Richie’s over grown stubble covered cheeks.

“Honey, are you okay? Does anything still hurt? Do you need you medicine?.” She talks so fast that Richie can’t get a word in.  
Beverly looks up at the others with a accusing expression.” You see- I knew we shouldn’t have gotten his discharged this early! He still needs time to heal, I don’t know how you guys persuaded me to let him leave but, I’m not gonna listen now!”

Beverly’s tone reaches Richie’s ears in the winds breeze as the sound of a young Eddie Kaspbrak- in the summer of 1989- complaint about his broken arm.

Richie wipes his tears and smiles at the sun.

No one takes notice.

Eddie taps his foot against the pavement- Stan, who’s beside him, raises a brow- and says.” See! See! At least someone else agrees with me on this! He should not of been fucking released! I mean, maybe go a better fixing hospital cause, holy fuck! This one sucks ass but, me and Bev both knew it was too early for him to leave but, nooo! You guys said ‘he was fine’ ‘it’ll be okay’ ‘quit worrying’ well-“ Eddie ceases his wild hand gestures and cynical tone to point at a still crying but, otherwise, smiling Richie.

“ Look where that went! Barely out of the hospital and he’s already crying agai-“ Stan elbows Eddie in the stomach and gives him one of his most famous ‘shut the fuck out right now or I’ll do it for you’ glares. 

Eddie’s eye brows shoot up to his hair line- an offended look on his face. His mouth quirks as he thinks of what to say- but halts his complaint at the last second while Richie Intervenes.

“ I’m fine, Bevvie,” Richie’s cheeks grow so big form his smile that they physically push Beverly’s hands away from each other.” In fact- I’ve never been better and-“ He slides the red heads fingers of his face with no offense and turns to Eddie with shimmering brown eyes.  
“ I’m sorry for scaring you, Eddie. I know ive been doing that a lot lately- and that I’ve been kind of a pussy with..all the crying, but-“ He turns to face the sun when Eddie goes to speak again, eyes lingering a little longer in Stan’s plain, but warming stare for comfort.

“ I just can’t help but cry at the fact I get to experience this beautiful day- another day- with you guys...” The sun reflects off of his glasses and creates an illusion of pink and light blue circles in the suns rays.  
“ After the day...I didn’t know if I’d see you guys again...I was scared shitless, I didn’t know what was happening or what was wrong with me...I just knew, that...that last moment could of been my last and..” Richie looks down at his twiddling thumbs, then back to the sun, while swallowing a limp in his throat.

“ I just can’t help but cry over the fact that I do..get to spend another day alive- with you guys. That I’m still here, still breathing, tasting and seeing this day, this hour...it makes me cry.” 

Ben, who’s eyes had stared to grow wet minutes ago, bends down the wrap his arms around Richie’s neck. And, in any given moment in the future, Richie would of made some sexual comment about how ‘he always wanted to get chokes by a Brazilian soccer player’ but...he felt this moment was something too personal...to raw, and ugly to be destroyed by the simple pleasures of a ‘I’d fuck my best friend’ joke.

No, he would let the man hug him- let all the losers hug him and cry and drip snot all over him- if it meant their love was true. That he was alive- he was really here- and finally able to let the anxiety of his tragic love stories go to rest.

For what is the price of on past love compared to the six present, and future, ones that have yet to be fully examined with his own two eyes.

Yes, Richie loved the fact that he was alive . No, he did not enjoy the thought of living the rest of his life a cripple- shorter than Eddie Kaspbrak.  
Yes, he would do everything single thing, even break his legs, again if it meant his happy ending would stay true. Over. And over. And over.  
Richie would do it for them.

For Eddie, Stan, Bill, Mike, Ben, and Beverly...he would sacrifice himself. He would do it.

~~~

The losers leave the hospital parking lot after sunset. Ben and Mike help Richie into the passengers seat and fold his wheel chair into the back. 

Driving back to the townhouse, of which they past a small pond, a turtle emerges from the water to see the tail lights of the losers car disappear into a hot, March fog.

It’s eyes seem to shine a bright, cyan blue in the darkness. No one sees. Of course, no one was supposed to.

The turtles winks at nothing. Then, with the slowness of a tortoise, it’s shell disappears under the ponds quarry green, blue water and is never to be seen again.

His job is done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!  
> Leave a comment, if you want too- and have a good day :)

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed that mess! I actually had a lot of fun writing it and hope you guess did too! 
> 
> I’m actually thinking of dropping one of my later stories/series to focus on this one cause..I just like it a lot! Is that bad? I don’t know...anyway! 
> 
> Leave a comment, if you want to! And have a good one! :))))


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